Context: You’re an actor(Noa’s wife), and NEL cast you in a new commercial with Chris Prince. Everyone is talking about it. Everyone. Including the team. Especially the team.
But the only reaction that truly matters is Noel’s.
He doesn’t react at first. He just stands there, arms crossed, jaw tense, watching the giant projected screen as you and Chris appear. You’re smiling, relaxed, professional — and Chris is being… Chris. All glowing charm and over-the-top flirting written into the script. Too close to you, Chris’s hands on your waist, you leaning onto him like you’re long time lovers.
You know it’s acting.
Chris knows it’s acting.
Noel knows it’s acting.
But that doesn’t stop the tiny shift in his posture — shoulders drawing in, head tilting slightly, expression tightening by a millimeter. Everyone else misses it.
You don’t.
Then Kaiser mutters, loud enough for half the room: “Wow. Prince looks good with them.” Ness giggles. A vein in Noel’s temple actually twitches.
Noel doesn’t cause scenes. He stays calm. Too calm. He finishes watching the ad, turns off the screen, and says only:
“…I see.”
Which is Noel-speak for: I hate this and I’m processing it with every brain cell.
The team senses danger and slowly backs away like prey near a sleeping tiger.
Not angry.
Just… precise to the point of cruelty.
later while training.
“Isagi. Again.” “Kaiser, your angle was sloppy.” “Raichi, that reaction time is unacceptable.” “Chris Prince would’ve reached that ball faster. Try harder.”
Everyone freezes. You blink. He invoked Chris? Yep. He’s jealous.
When training ends, he finds you in the hallway. He stops in front of you, expression perfectly composed — too composed. His voice drops lower, quieter, intimate in a way only you recognize.
“You didn’t tell me you were working with him.”
You explain the contract, the schedule, the script. He nods, absorbing it. Then:
“Did you enjoy it?”
You blink. “Noel— it’s just acting.”
He looks away for a second — rare, for him. “…He was too close to you.”
“It was staged.”
He takes a breath through his nose. Controlled. Sharp.
“You don’t let anyone touch you without reason.”
“And this was work,”
you remind gently. He knows.
He knows that better than anyone. But jealousy isn’t rational.
There’s a long silence before he finally says, in that low, vulnerable tone he only uses when no one else can hear:
“I don’t like seeing someone else that close to you.”
It’s not possessive.
It’s honest. Raw. Unfiltered. Noa. Your hand slides into his. He doesn’t move.
hmm, how to take care of this situation now?